


him. (destiel)

by laurencathryn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's great childhood, Guardian angel cas i guess, Let the pain sink in slowly, M/M, This is actually kinda emotional, itll hurt more, read it slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 15:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16161572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurencathryn/pseuds/laurencathryn
Summary: “he’s eight years old.a child.and he already has a kill under his belt.i often find myself resenting my father nowadays.his too.“—a story in which cas has been there for dean since the beginning, and never really left.—





	him. (destiel)

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first destiel story, let me know what you think :) comments are always appreciated.

January 24th 1979.

He was born today. 

I felt the tug at my chest pulling me towards Earth as he took his first breath. He is beautiful. He is strong. 

He has his mother’s eyes and his father's stubbornness. Although young, I can already tell that he will be a force to be reckoned with. 

When I first meet his gaze, I see the future laid out for him. 

I saw his memories, his woes. 

Such profound pain, such brokenness. 

I don’t understand how Father could put such a big burden on such a small infant. 

John and Mary are asleep now, tired from what the day held for them. The start of their family. 

I sit, watching the small bundle in the crib. His soul is one of the brightest I’ve ever seen. 

I wonder if it will stay that way through the years. 

When no one is looking, I take him in my arms. 

He truly is beautiful. 

January 24th 1982.

He turned three today. 

I felt him call out to me, a familiar tugging feeling overcoming me. 

I softly land in the living room of the small house, my wings fluttering quietly into place behind me. 

He doesn’t notice me quite yet, he is too entranced by the red matchbox car he just received, pushing it noisy across the wooden floor, making little engine sounds as he moves across the floor. 

Mary and John sit together, in love, smiling down at him with a look only explained as affection. 

I can’t help but join them. 

Little does he know in a couple months time, that red car will soon become his brothers. 

As I tug on his soul to remind him I am here, I see memories. 

A young boy, with brown hair, reaching out for him, scared of the dark. 

A young man, getting on a bus with tears in his eyes. Turning at the last second, reaching out for him, to give him one last hug before he goes. 

A experienced hunter, many many years later, with the same brown doey eyes, reaching out for him, to give one last touch before they enter heaven side by side. 

But this is years away. 

Most of all, I feel his fierce love and protectiveness over him, one almost as strong as mine for him. 

I see the fire years from now, but still too soon. 

I pray to Father for his safety. 

I don’t think anyone is listening. 

November 2nd 1983. 

It is silent in the house, but I know that Azazel’s entrance is only minutes away, starting the Hell that will taint his life. 

He is sleeping now, blissfully unaware of what will happen in tonight. 

I don’t want to wake him. 

So I don’t. 

I situate myself on the edge of the bed, watching over him. 

I don’t move when I hear the door open. 

Or the footsteps coming up the hall. 

I can’t stop these events, they are something written into history.  
I know what will happen tonight. 

That doesn't mean I don’t flinch when I hear Mary’s screams echoing the hall. 

I try to stop him from running into Sam’s room. 

He saw anyways. 

I don't think it's something he's ever going to forget. 

I watch as John hands the screaming bundle to him, whispering to him “Go.” 

He turns, and I make myself visible. 

He runs into my arms, and I take him somewhere safe. 

He lost his mother today. And his father. And his childhood. 

But he didn’t lose me. 

He never will. 

March 6th 1987

He went on his first hunt today. 

It’s a simple salt and burn, but I can’t help but worry. 

I stay close to him the entire night. 

I know he’s nervous. 

I’m nervous too.

Him and John come back from the fight triumphant, with bruises to prove it. 

He calls out to me in the night, asking me to come to him. 

As if I wasn’t already there. 

He acts like he’s strong. 

Like the cuts on his shoulder don’t hurt.  
Like the ghost’s cries of pain didn’t affect him as he dropped the match. 

I heal him. 

He cries into my shoulder. 

He’s eight years old. 

A child. 

And he already has a kill under his belt. 

I often find myself resenting my father nowadays. 

His too. 

 

April 13th 1991

Sam found the journal today. 

Dean blames himself for not hiding it well enough. 

Sam asks questions. 

Ones that even I don’t have an answer to. 

May 2nd 1991 

Sam’s first hunt was today. 

He wasn’t allowed to come with. 

I’ve never seen a twelve year old look so scared. 

They got sidetracked and had to stay in a different motel for the night. 

Leaving him alone. 

He called out to me, and we talked for hours. 

He’s too mature for a twelve year old. 

He fell asleep with his head resting against my arm. 

I heard my brothers and sisters calling to me from Heaven. 

I stayed. 

There are more important things here. 

When the morning came, John called saying he had found another easy case across state, and was going to take Sam. 

He waited for them in that motel room for a week. 

He never left, true to his promise to his father. 

I guess neither did I. 

August 11th 2000

Sam left for Stanford today. 

I didn’t humans were as complex to feel as many emotions as him. 

He so desperately wants to be happy for his little brother. 

He wants to be. 

But I can tell that it hurts. 

I learned that John throws things when he’s angry. 

Including his fists. 

I asked Dean to let me heal him, but he said no. 

Something about battle scars. 

I didn’t know that a 22 year old could cry so much. 

September 27th 2005 

Today’s the day we leave to go get Sam. 

John went on a hunting trip a couple days ago, and we haven’t heard from him in days. 

Dean assumes the worst. 

I don’t know how to tell him he’s right.


End file.
